Two cancers. One me.

I’m Sorry I Said That

I hope you believe that I’m sorry I said that. Chemo and radiation has done some damage, and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know what has happened to the road between my brain and my mouth. Suddenly, the pavement is different, and I am lost.

It appears in three different ways:

I said it, and realized it was wrong right away. For example, I couldn’t remember the phrase pizza rolls. Instead, I called them mini hot pockets. I knew it wasn’t right, but I could not pull the correct words, and went with what I had.

I only realized it was wrong after someone corrected me, e.g. saying roadneck instead of redneck. It felt wrong when I said. However, I didn’t know why until someone said, Roadneck? and I could only shake my head.

Much later, as I’m drifting off to sleep, I think, “Holy shit. I said that? I sounded like a dick.” Someone had planned an open mic speaking event. Afterward, I went up to her and said that I enjoyed it. I told her if she did another one even I may join in. It didn’t occur to me that she might not know that I had not written anything because I had been too drained from chemo. Didn’t occur to me to clarify that I wasn’t a prima donna. I just word struggle.

I really do try, but the chemo fog rolls in, and pieces of me disappear. I’m sorry if I just drift away in the middle of a conversation. I’m sorry if what I say doesn’t come out right. That fog is really intense.

I promise you, if I’m truly being a dick, I will wear it like a fucking tiara.